


but i with mournful tread

by alysanne



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1530479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alysanne/pseuds/alysanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looks so small there, alone in her grief, and he resists the familiar urge to rush over and take her into his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but i with mournful tread

**Author's Note:**

> So, this came out of nowhere. I don't know if I'd call Louis' death a spoiler given that it's historical fact, but...yeah, don't read on if you don't want to read about him dying (which I hope doesn't happen for a long time in the show, if at all!)  
> Kind of spoilery re. Cardinal Richelieu's fate.  
> Title is taken from the poem "O Captain! My Captain!" by Walt Whitman.

 

It is customary for the king's body to lie in state before the funeral.

Aramis finds the queen there, for once free of her constant guard of ladies-in-waiting, standing beside her husband's bier. She looks so small there, alone in her grief, and he resists the familiar urge to rush over and take her into his arms.

He thinks that black is not a good colour for her. She looks drawn and washed out, but perhaps she would look so regardless of what colour she was wearing. The last time he'd seen her in black was after Richelieu's death, and she had not looked so ill then. _She had been carrying our child then,_ Aramis realises with a start, and he remembers feeling almost pleased that the cardinal's suspicions of the prince's paternity would never be voiced.

They had tried to conceal their relief, he and the queen (and perhaps Athos, who has solemnly kept their secret for so long now), and they had donned expressions of sadness for the king, who had been so distraught at his friend and councillor's sudden death.

And now it is Louis who death has taken so suddenly. The body on the bier does not look like the King of France. His skin is sallow and waxen, his face solemn in a way that it had never been in life, void of the _joie de vivre_ that had so exemplified Louis.

The queen finally notices him drawing closer, and her head snaps up.

"Aramis," she breathes.

What is he to say to her? Their relationship is one he struggles to define. He knows her so intimately, yet they are forced to act so distantly. She is a daughter of Austria and Spain, a queen of France, and he is but a lowly soldier, yet they share something that can never be taken away from them in the young prince.

That night in the convent, clouded by grief and uncertainty and passion - and yes, Aramis thinks, love as well - seems so long ago.

"Your Majesty," he manages. "I am so sorry."

She regards him with those stunning blue eyes of hers. Usually so courteous and graceful with her words, she says nothing in return.

Yet he has to ask. He has to know. "How is he?"

"How is he?" the queen asks after a moment, and Aramis is shocked to hear her voice so hoarse. "He's _dead_."

She has been staring at the body for so long, Louis is all that occupies her mind. "The prince, I mean," Aramis amends. In truth young Louis is the king now, but Paris is too shell-shocked to refer to him as such. "Your son."

Her voice is tinged with a hollow laugh that echoes off the palace walls when she speaks next. " _Our_ son, you mean."

Aramis stares at his boots. "Yes."

"He is king. Our son is the king. What do you make of that?"

She is almost challenging him, fixing him with her stare, and Aramis struggles to think of what to say next. "He is too young."

Sadness and pity threaten to overwhelm him. Five years old is far too young to be burdened with such a position. The prince is such a joyful little boy, much like the man he believes to be his father. The realm does not know otherwise either, and it is purely luck that the prince takes after his mother in appearance. But when the boy smiles, his smile is entirely Aramis'.

 _"The poor boy,"_ people in the streets have been whispering about their new king. _"To be left without a father, at such a young age..."_

 _He has a father,_ Aramis thinks determinedly to himself. _He does not know it, but he has one._

"He is," the queen agrees. "He is far too young for such a duty. The task shall fall to me." Her voice rises, just a little, and Aramis realises she is terrified of what will come next.

"I have no doubt that you will do magnificently. You have the temperament for ruling." _Far more than your husband did,_ he tries not to add. "And I will watch over the king. My life is his."

_I will lay down my life for him, if necessary. He will have no more devoted servant._

She steps around the bier to stand beside Aramis, and takes his hands in hers. "I know." Her blue eyes are shining with tears as she nods at the body before them.

"I think I loved him, Aramis. I really think I did."

Anne begins to cry, her hands clutching Aramis' for support, and all he can do is kiss her forehead and take her into his arms.

 


End file.
